Is Magnum, P.I. My Father? An Investigation by Carly, P.I.

Note:  This post was originally published Sept. 14, 2011, just after I had started my blog.  Almost nobody read my blog back then, so this is your chance to catch up (yay!).  Plus, it’s been a busy week and I didn’t have time to write an original.  Enjoy!

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Reader, if you were born after 1990, please Google “Magnum, P.I.” before proceeding.  Otherwise, you’ll be lost.  Preparation is everything.

As you may recall, Magnum, P.I. was one of the most beloved crime dramas of the 1980s.  Set in beautiful Hawaii, Magnum and his pals worked to solve crimes and thwart danger while taking time to enjoy the tropical paradise that surrounded them.  The cast also included T.C., Higgins, Robin, two frightening dogs and some other people I don’t remember.

Families all across America watched this great show, and my family was no exception.  I, however, did not watch on a regular basis, as I was but a young lass and had more important things on my mind, like thinking up ways to avoid nap time and hiding my toys from my brother and sister.  On occasion, I would catch glimpses of the show, but only because I had no other choice if I wanted to watch TV.  We only had one TV and, because I was the youngest, my suggestions usually got rejected when it was time to select the programming.  To this day, I wonder to what degree my development was delayed as a result of my having missed so many episodes of Sesame Street.

It was a weekday afternoon.  I was in the TV room with my mom, watching her fold laundry and, most likely, telling her where she was going wrong when matching up the corners of the towels.  Magnum, P.I. was on and, being the observant child that I was, something caught my eye.  That man playing Magnum looked strangely familiar.  His height, his build, his hair and most importantly, that glorious mustache, all reminded me of someone.  Suddenly, an epiphany: was this man my father?

My suspicions were growing and I couldn’t get it out of my head.  I immediately began investigating.  There was no time to waste.  I would be starting Kindergarten soon and needed to know the truth before I could begin this next chapter in my life.  My older siblings often briefed me on what occurred at school and I knew I would be expected to talk about my parents’ occupations.  When it came time to explain what my father did, would I say “Commercial Real Estate Agent” or “Highly Successful Actor?”

I developed my theory rather quickly.  My father was, in fact, Magnum P.I. and he flew to Hawaii each day for filming.  I had flown several times and was well aware that it took a long time to fly from Alaska to anywhere.  But this could be explained.  He must have had a special Hollywood plane that flew faster than the rest.

I also remembered that Magnum played tennis.  My father, too, was a tennis player.  This was one of the reasons they chose him to play the part.  They needed someone who looked like he knew what he was doing on the court.  My father was also a seasoned hunter and knew how to handle a gun, which was a key requirement for the role.

But what about the issue of climate acclimation?  Were the producers of the show willing to take a man living in Alaska and expose him to such warm temperatures, over and over?  That too could be explained.  My father was originally from Texas and could handle the heat.

I also knew that most famous actors were usually rich.  This threw a big wrench in my theory.  We certainly weren’t rich, so where did all the money go?  I surmised that my parents had set up trust funds for each of us that we would have access to at a later date.  They wanted us to learn the value of a dollar by earning money on our own.  They weren’t going to shower us with gifts and have us turn into spoiled brats (parenting was different back then).  This also explains why I didn’t get the Barbie I had my sights set on.

But then, just as I was set to expose the truth, my theory fell apart.  My mother did not like the cold weather up north and frequently dreamed of warmer days.  If I knew my mother, and I was pretty sure I did since she birthed me, I was certain there was no chance she would let my dad fly to Hawaii on a regular basis without taking her along.  But this never happened.  I couldn’t remember a single instance in which both of my parents were away for an extended period of time.  I also would have known that something was amiss when she came back with a tan and flowers in her hair.  I could explain my dad’s tan.  He spent hours outside during the summers and, contrary to popular belief, you can actually get a tan in Alaska.  This was not a possibility for my mother, as she was primarily an indoor parent.

So, I finally accepted the fact that my dad was not Magnum, P.I.  The person playing him was a man by the name of Tom Selleck.  While I was willing to acknowledge this, I still believe they could be long-lost brothers.

   

I recently discovered that my sister had the same suspicions as a child, which tells me that I wasn’t completely off-base.  My brother, however, said that while Magnum, P.I. was one of his mentors and heroes, he did not believe that the role was actually played by our father.  My mother is now a skilled towel folder.  The mustache was removed years ago while on vacation in order to allow my dad to attach his snorkeling mask more effectively.  It is missed and will be remembered fondly.

(Images Courtesy: rottentomatoes.com)

Scarred for Life: the Treadmill Story

This morning I decided I should go to the gym.   Unfortunately, this thought came into my head at the exact same moment that I got a craving for a nap.  Desperate for any reason to stay home, I looked down at my right ring finger and got all the excuse I could ever need. 

When you hear the word “exercise,” you probably think one of the following things:

  • “I don’t feel like exercising, but I know I need to.  Eh, maybe tomorrow.”
  • “I don’t believe in exercising.  That’s just something skinny people do.”
  • “I love exercising, especially if it means I get to finish off that tub of ice cream in the freezer.”

When I think of exercise, I picture a traumatic scene from my childhood, complete with blood, screaming and a trip to the emergency room.  You guys, exercising is dangerous. 

My dad taught and played tennis at two different fitness clubs in Anchorage.  He would take us kids with him frequently.  We spent so much time at the clubs, that many of the members and employees knew us by name.  Being the rambunctious (yet loveable) kids that we were, it wasn’t unusual for us to run around unsupervised, playing with every piece of equipment we came across.  They were pretty much giant playgrounds and we had a free pass to do whatever we wanted (I have a feeling the club owners may have felt differently). 

Many of my fondest childhood memories took place at these clubs.  I took my first swim lessons, watched my first episodes of Beverly Hills 90210 in one of the TV lounges,* burnt myself making tea and picked up more tennis balls than I could ever count.  Among the countless memories, one stands out above the rest:  the treadmill accident.

I was five years old.  My dad was on the tennis court and my sister and I decided to get in a good workout, as all 50 lb. kids like to do.  A lady, whose name I can’t remember, but whose face and big blonde hair will forever be engrained in my memory, was “supervising” us.  I thought it would be fun to go for a jog on the treadmill.  If you’re not familiar with the evolution of the treadmill, the ones back in the late ‘80’s were not the slim, light ones from present day.  Back then, they were big and bulky.  More importantly, they didn’t have the safety string thing** that you attach to your clothes in case you should fall.  Ah, if only.  Anyway, I hopped on one of the treadmills and began to increase the speed.  Oh, this was fun.  I increased it more.  And more.  Then, I thought to myself that I might fall, as I was having trouble keeping up.  As usual, my instincts were dead on.  I reached up to turn down the speed, but it was too late.  I slipped and flew backwards like a rag doll (picture Raggedy Ann trying to run on a treadmill- it was just like that).   When I tried to save myself, my right hand got sucked into the bottom of the treadmill.  Um, ouch.  It was bad.  I remembered screaming so loudly, not from the pain, but out of sheer panic and fear.  And oh, the blood.  So much blood.  The blonde lady and my sister rushed over to help me.  Luckily, one of my favorite club members was there and she was a doctor.  She rushed me to the hospital and my brother was asked to go get my dad. 

My brother had the attention span of your average 8 year old.  He went down to the court that my dad was playing on.   From what I’ve been told, this is the approximate conversation that took place:

Dad:  “Hey Zach.”

Zach:  “Hi.”

Dad:  “Is everything okay?”

Zach:  “Yep.”

Pause…

Zach:  “Oh, Carly’s at the hospital.”

Dad:   “What?!?”

My parents soon arrived at the hospital.  I was abnormally calm by that point and proud of the fact that I hadn’t cried one bit (I just screamed bloody murder instead).  I was eventually taken into surgery.  Let me provide some helpful advice.  If you’re ever about to undergo surgery and the nurse asks you what flavor of gas you want, do not choose chocolate.  I’ve never felt so deceived in my life.  It smelled like death, at least for the 2 seconds before I fell into a deep sleep.  Anyway, the skin from the top of my right ring finger was, um, gone.  They took skin from my hip and grafted it onto my hand.  Afterward, I had a cast in the shape of a ball.  Real cute. 

For several weeks, I got to go to “hand therapy,” which was more of a spa treatment than medical treatment.  I would put my hand in the hand bubble bath, which was actually kind of painful, but totally worth it knowing I was getting to miss kindergarten.    

To this day, I have a scar that runs down the top of my finger.  It’s been there so long that it’s never bothered me in the least.   I think the bigger scar is a mental one, which is only a problem upon seeing a treadmill.  This may also explain the fear I have when stepping onto an escalator.***

Oddly enough, I feel like going to the gym after writing this post.  Don’t worry, I won’t be using the treadmill, or watching Beverly Hills 90210.  I’m smarter than that now.  

But first, a nap.  One needs to be fully rested for a good workout.

*My parents would have been ticked if they knew I was watching this at that age.

**Does anyone remember the kids’ snack “String Things?”  Not my favorite string candy, but pretty tasty nonetheless.

Mmm…string candy.

***I can’t be the only one.  Walking up normal stairs is hard enough to handle, let alone moving ones.  Whose idea was that anyway?

Is Magnum, P.I. My Father? An Investigation by Carly, P.I.

Reader, if you were born after 1990, please Google “Magnum, P.I.” before proceeding.  Otherwise, you’ll be lost.  Preparation is everything.  

As you may recall, Magnum, P.I. was one of the most beloved crime dramas of the 1980s.  Set in beautiful Hawaii, Magnum and his pals worked to solve crimes and thwart danger while taking time to enjoy the tropical paradise that surrounded them.  The cast also included T.C., Higgins, Robin, two frightening dogs and some other people I don’t remember.    

Families all across America watched this great show, and my family was no exception.  I, however, did not watch on a regular basis, as I was but a young lass and had more important things on my mind, like thinking up ways to avoid nap time and hiding my toys from my brother and sister.  On occasion, I would catch glimpses of the show, but only because I had no other choice if I wanted to watch TV.  We only had one TV and, because I was the youngest, my suggestions usually got rejected when it was time to select the programming.  To this day, I wonder to what degree my development was delayed as a result of my having missed so many episodes of Sesame Street. 

It was a weekday afternoon.  I was in the TV room with my mom, watching her fold laundry and, most likely, telling her where she was going wrong when matching up the corners of the towels.  Magnum, P.I. was on and, being the observant child that I was, something caught my eye.  That man playing Magnum looked strangely familiar.  His height, his build, his hair and most importantly, that glorious mustache, all reminded me of someone.  Suddenly, an epiphany: was this man my father?

My suspicions were growing and I couldn’t get it out of my head.  I immediately began investigating.  There was no time to waste.  I would be starting Kindergarten soon and needed to know the truth before I could begin this next chapter in my life.  My older siblings often briefed me on what occurred at school and I knew I would be expected to talk about my parents’ occupations.  When it came time to explain what my father did, would I say “Commercial Real Estate Agent” or “Highly Successful Actor?”

I developed my theory rather quickly.  My father was, in fact, Magnum P.I. and he flew to Hawaii each day for filming.  I had flown several times and was well aware that it took a long time to fly from Alaska to anywhere.  But this could be explained.  He must have had a special Hollywood plane that flew faster than the rest. 

I also remembered that Magnum played tennis.  My father, too, was a tennis player.  This was one of the reasons they chose him to play the part.  They needed someone who looked like he knew what he was doing on the court.  My father was also a seasoned hunter and knew how to handle a gun, which was a key requirement for the role.

But what about the issue of climate acclimation?  Were the producers of the show willing to take a man living in Alaska and expose him to such warm temperatures, over and over?  That too could be explained.  My father was originally from Texas and could handle the heat. 

I also knew that most famous actors were usually rich.  This threw a big wrench in my theory.  We certainly weren’t rich, so where did all the money go?  I surmised that my parents had set up trust funds for each of us that we would have access to at a later date.  They wanted us to learn the value of a dollar by earning money on our own.  They weren’t going to shower us with gifts and have us turn into spoiled brats (parenting was different back then).  This also explains why I didn’t get the Barbie I had my sights set on.

But then, just as I was set to expose the truth, my theory fell apart.  My mother did not like the cold weather up north and frequently dreamed of warmer days.  If I knew my mother, and I was pretty sure I did since she birthed me, I was certain there was no chance she would let my dad fly to Hawaii on a regular basis without taking her along.  But this never happened.  I couldn’t remember a single instance in which both of my parents were away for an extended period of time.  I also would have known that something was amiss when she came back with a tan and flowers in her hair.  I could explain my dad’s tan.  He spent hours outside during the summers and, contrary to popular belief, you can actually get a tan in Alaska.  This was not a possibility for my mother, as she was primarily an indoor parent. 

So, I finally accepted the fact that my dad was not Magnum, P.I.  The person playing him was a man by the name of Tom Selleck.  While I was willing to acknowledge this, I still believe they could be long-lost brothers.  

      

I recently discovered that my sister had the same suspicions as a child, which tells me that I wasn’t completely off-base.  My brother, however, said that while Magnum, P.I. was one of his mentors and heroes, he did not believe that the role was actually played by our father.  My mother is now a skilled towel folder.  The mustache was removed years ago while on vacation in order to allow my dad to attach his snorkeling mask more effectively.  It is missed and will be remembered fondly.

(Images Courtesy rottentomatoes.com)